Hello, Security?
by Hans the bold
Summary: Ben seeks love in the Camden way, with help from Ruthie. Now, in Chapter 11 Ben shows his passion for Jill as only he can, and Eric says a special grace, which all sinners need to pay attention to.
1. Grounded in Love

It should never be said that there aren't characters on 7th Heaven who I like. I used to like Lucy, for example, and when Simon is all angsty he's pretty cool, and Eric can be sympathetic from time to time. And I really liked Gabrielle, and Claire, because Gabrielle was funny and Claire had a great, if short lived, story. Recently, though, my favorite character has been Jill. Jill, for those of you who don't remember, was the pretty woman what Ruthie tried to set Ben up with on the Promenade in the episode "High Anxiety". Since she reacted more or less the way I would in such a situation (running away and calling for security), I felt she deserved her own fanfic.  
  
So here it is. As always, the characters from 7th Heaven belong to the WB and other Hollywood bigshots. The story, of course, is (c) 2003 by Hans the bold.  
  
One: Grounded in Love  
* * *  
  
It began on an airplane.  
  
Sort of.  
  
On an airplane, on the ground, the ground being the vast tarmac of Glenoak International Airport. On an airplane, back in coach, squeezed between Mrs. Ellie Mae Marple who was going to visit her three precious grandsons in Topeka (catching the convenient hub through Fort Lauderdale) and Mr. Bob Johnson, an insurance salesman who couldn't afford business class, even on Jet Blue, which it turned out didn't have business class anyway.  
  
Anyway. Airplane on the ground at GIA. Squeezed between the grandmother and the insurance salesman, waiting to take off for Fort Lauderdale, was a man. A broad chested, handsome man with an eternal smile and a rather blank gaze about him, sitting and staring at the tray table in its locked position, waiting for takeoff.  
  
You see, there was the Air India 4:30pm flight to New Delhi ahead of it, and the Aeroflot 4:35pm direct flight to Moscow, plus that Chilean Airways nonstop to Santiago, all ahead of this plane.  
  
GIA was a busy place, you know, being the North American Hub for 94% of the world's international carriers, including Air Canada.  
  
All right, so the man, the handsome man, was squeezed into his seat, waiting.  
  
We'll call him Ben. By a remarkable coincidence, that was his name, too.  
  
So Ben was sitting, thinking of Mary. That was her name, the girl in Fort Lauderdale he was going to fly off and see. It was going to be very romantic, you know, because Mary was a stewardess for Jet Blue, and we all know that any story involving a stewardess has to be romantic, because stewardesses have such romantic jobs.  
  
Ah, amore!  
  
So he was sitting, Ben was, and now that your humble narrator has run out of things to talk about while he was sitting (deciding to mercifully spare you the details of Mrs. Marple's three grandsons and Mr. Johnson's summer sales figures), we can begin out story in earnest.  
  
#  
  
"Hey!"  
  
That was Ben. He had just thought of something, an event which he always found very exciting indeed, and now he was frantically unbuckling his seatbelt. Mrs. Marple gave him an odd look, and Mr. Johnson tried to move as Ben struggled to his feet.  
  
A stewardess noticed the commotion.  
  
"Excuse me, sir," she said. "You'll need to stay in your seat. We're about to start taxiing to the runway."  
  
"But I don't love her!" Ben exclaimed. "Don't you see?"  
  
The stewardess, despite her fashionable scarf that not only could be worn while managing a cabin at 30,000 feet but which was also a marvelous fashion accessory to wear to weddings, did not understand.  
  
"That's fine, sir," she said, "but we need to be on our way. Please sit back down."  
  
"But I don't have to go!" exclaimed Ben. "I can stay here! Right here in Glenoak! What am I, an idiot?"  
  
The stewardess, Mrs. Marple, Mr. Johnson, and assorted other passengers all refrained from answering. The stewardess, being wise as well as fashionably dressed, saw and seized her opportunity.  
  
"Would you like to get off the plane, sir?"  
  
Ben's eyes went wide with the sort of glee normally reserved for five-year-olds being offered some form of colorful sugar.  
  
"Would I? Oh, yeah!"  
  
And so the boarding ramp returned, and Ben got off, and the Jet Blue flight to Fort Lauderdale was delayed by ten minutes. This resulted in delays for flights from Air Japan, British Airways, Air Kenya, and the twice-weekly flight of Air Upper Slobovia, which happened to be carrying the ambassador from Lower Slobovia, whose late arrival in the disputed city of Slobovania precipitated a small war.  
  
But all the other passengers were happy. 


	2. Leotardo Da Vinci

Two: Leotardo Da Vinci  
* * *  
  
Happy.  
  
That's a dog's name, you know. Not that that has anything to do with anything, except that Ben saw Happy when he got back to the Casa Camden, which was located in the dead geographic center of Glenoak, a fact that never seemed to change even when new buildings were added to the town. More importantly for our story, though, was the fact that Ben saw his brother Kevin and the Camdens when he returned, even as he made happy exclamations throughout the large Camden household.  
  
"I don't love her! What am I, an idiot?"  
  
The Camdens, who included the reluctant reverend, Eric, the enthusiastic reverend's wife Annie, the reverend in training despite her obsession with marriage daughter Lucy, the formerly interesting and angsty son Simon, and the scheming, sneaky daughter Ruthie, as well as two little boys who doubled as lawn gnomes named Sam and David (or was it David and Sam?), all refrained from answering Ben's latest outbursts, since they were all preoccupied with other, more important things like something else. Ben's brother Kevin, who was a policeman with a nervous disorder that kept him from forming normal facial expressions, simply laughed at his brother, as he always did, his self-esteem being based on that sort of thing.  
  
Happy barked. Woof!  
  
#  
  
Ben spent the day, and the next day, wandering about the Casa Camden congratulating himself on how he wasn't an idiot, until he realized that he was supposed to be at work, being a fireman on loan from Buffalo, and he hurried off to help keep the town of Glenoak safe from having its cats trapped in trees, which is, with the exception of periodic church arsons by bigots, most of what the fire department is called upon to do in Glenoak, after all. Fortunately for Ben, no cats had become so trapped in the past few days, and the bigots were all off at a convention in nearby Iamaloserville, and so the fire chief hadn't noticed he was gone. The only one who did notice was the rescue dog that Ben was supposed to be training, who expressed his displeasure at being abandoned by biting Ben on a place that the rating of this story will not allow me describe in detail.  
  
"Good boy!" Ben said, not quite noticing.  
  
After cleaning up the mess that naturally occurs when you ignore a dog in a firehouse for several days, Ben took the dog for a walk. This walk in turn took them both down main street, where, as with every main street in every proper American city, there was of course a dance studio.  
  
And there he saw her.  
  
Ah, how to describe her? There, inside, with all sorts of other women, prancing about in a blue leotard and tights, her body just flowing in rhythm with the music, her dark hair bouncing with its slight curl, feminine, slender, lovely.  
  
Ah!  
  
And there Ben stood, transfixed, unmoving, until the rescue dog he was walking ran off, returning to the firehouse and bringing help. It was late by then, and the dance studio was long since closed, and had it not been perpetually 70 degrees Fahrenheit in Glenoak the firemen who rescued Ben would have had to treat him for hypothermia, which would have involved crawling into sleeping bag with him in their underwear, the picture of which has now scarred your humble narrator's brain forever.  
  
The firemen were relieved too.  
  
#  
  
He knew her name, Ben did. She had a name, too, a real one, with letters and everything. He knew it. Four letters; which did it start with? He struggled with this as one of his fellow firemen gave him a cup of hot cocoa.  
  
A-B-C-D-E-F....  
  
Drat! What came after F? Four letters. Did her name start with F? Did it have four letters? F is so familiar to me, he thought; I wonder why?  
  
As you can well imagine, this approach wasn't terribly helpful for our plucky protagonist. Fortunately, although he had forgotten the woman's name, he did remember something far more important: she was pretty. Real pretty.  
  
More than this, he had met her once. That's how he knew her name. He knew lots of other stuff about her too, like the fact that she was pretty, and she was pretty, and she had been in the dance studio today. Dancing. There was other stuff too, that he knew, so he decided that tomorrow, when he had the day off, he would go and ask his friend Ruthie about this girl. He could trust Ruthie, because she was smart.  
  
It's a good thing I'm not an idiot, Ben concluded. 


	3. The Closet of Doom

Three: The Closet of Doom  
* * *  
  
Ruthie Camden was a clever little girl. Oh, yes, clever. Where Ben was, well, special, Ruthie was special in another way, a way that allowed her to ride horses at an exclusive club despite the fact that neither of her parents brought home a paycheck or owned the home they lived in. We must remember this about Ruthie, always and forever. She was clever.  
  
Ben came to her now, as she was sitting with her two younger brothers, Sam and David, pretending to play with them but actually trying to determine how boys their age were still barely able to speak. She wanted them to speak, of course, because then they would have things happen to them and she would be able to figure out what those things were and add them to her records. She looked over at Ben as he sat down.  
  
"Hi," Ben said.  
  
"Hello," answered Ruthie.  
  
"Can I ask you a question?" Ben asked.  
  
Ruthie shrugged. "Sure."  
  
Ben furrowed his brows for a moment and Ruthie watched him. She was glad he wasn't going to date her sister Mary, because, you know, Mary was an idiot who it was important to trash-talk behind her back at every opportunity, which her family did a lot nowadays. Ben at least had a nice chest, and he liked dogs, so Ruthie was willing to overlook other things about him.  
  
"Do you remember that girl, on the Promenade?" Ben asked.  
  
"Which one? There are a lot of girls on the Promenade."  
  
Ben looked confused for a moment, then nodded.  
  
"But there was one, you remember? You introduced her to me."  
  
"The one who ran off?" Ruthie asked.  
  
Ben nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! That's her! What was her name?"  
  
"Jill," Ruthie said.  
  
"Yeah! Did you know she's a dancer?"  
  
"I know."  
  
Ben's face went dreamy. "She sure is pretty."  
  
Ruthie's face perked up now as she saw Ben's enthusiasm. "Do you like her?" she asked him.  
  
The dreamy face expanded with a big smile. "Yeah. Since I'm not an idiot and I'm not dating Mary, I have to date someone, and Jill sure is pretty."  
  
Ruthie leaned over, took his hand.  
  
"Come with me," she said.   
  
#  
  
Eric and Annie Camden had always prided themselves in knowing exactly what their children were doing, all the time. This was, they felt, an essential part of good parenting, because it is a well known fact that every mistake made by unmarried people leads to another, and then another, until the mistakes become huge and out of control, leading to things like beer consumption, rap music, and eventually, no doubt, nude looting. So in their household Eric and Annie had always made it a point to know everything, enlisting their own children in a system of intelligence gathering that had since been emulated by spy agencies worldwide. Some of their kids had protested this, of course, most particularly Mary, who was a naughty, naughty girl who now worked for a living in Florida, but more importantly, others had actually thrived under the system.  
  
All right. Only Ruthie had thrived. But that was enough for our little tale.  
  
She brought Ben up to her room now and blindfolded him as she opened up the false back of her closet and carefully went through the thousands of well organized files she had in there. Finding the one she sought, she pulled it out and replaced the secret wall and then sat beside Ben, pulling off his blindfold as she did.  
  
He had fallen asleep, so she slapped him lightly.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
"It was Simon," Ruthie explained. "I tried to stop him. He's run off now."  
  
Ben smiled. "Thanks, Ruthie."  
  
"You're welcome. Now, you were interested in Jill?"  
  
Ben's head bobbed.  
  
"All right. What do you want to know about her?"  
  
"Her name?"  
  
Ruthie rolled her eyes.  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
Ben tried to think. "Where does she work?"  
  
"The dance studio on Main Street."  
  
"Oh, yeah."  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
Ben shrugged. Inwardly, Ruthie groaned. This was going to take more work than she thought, but it would be worth it.  
  
"All right," she said. "For fifty bucks, I'll give you the basics. That should be enough to get you a date, all right?"  
  
A date! Ben smiled again. That would be so cool. Him and Jill. Maybe she would wear her blue leotard, and he could wear his fireman's outfit. He pulled some bills from his pocket, handed them to Ruthie.  
  
Ruthie stuffed the bills into her pocket, glanced over the file in her hands.  
  
"Her full name is Jill Edwards. She's a student at Crawford University, full time. She's studying modern dance, and her favorite color is blue. She's not a vegetarian, and she likes the outdoors. You getting all this?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah."  
  
"For another twenty I'll give you her address."  
  
That came easily. Ruthie stuffed the money into her pocket, then grabbed the phone book by her bed and looked up Jill's address.  
  
"Is there more?" Ben panted.  
  
"What more do you want? Her phone number?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Ten bucks."  
  
Easy again. Ruthie took the bill and looked down the page of the phone book, rattled off the number.  
  
"Anything else?"  
  
Ben was learning, Ruthie saw. There was a wariness in his eyes. Not that it mattered.  
  
"What more do you have?" he asked.  
  
Ruthie smiled. "Tell you what. I'll give you the detailed package for another fifty."  
  
"Done!"  
  
#  
  
He waited patiently as she read, listening to every word. It probably wouldn't matter, though; he'd probably forget and then she'd be able to milk him for this same information later.  
  
"Let's see. Jill has a background in dance going back to age six, when her mother enrolled her in ballet. She did a stint with gymnastics at Bradford high school in Sacramento, specializing in the floor exercises. She's got a partial scholarship to Crawford and works at the dance studio to make the rest. Currently she lives alone; there was a boyfriend until last year, named Tom Lester, but now she's single and available. Got that?"  
  
"How do you know all this?" Ben asked finally.  
  
"I'm Ruthie Camden. I've been watching this town since I was an infant. You'd be amazed what I know." For effect Ruthie rattled off Jill's dress size and shoe size.  
  
"Wow," intoned Ben, sitting in the presence of greatness. Ruthie chuckled.  
  
"Her bra size is 34B. She prefers blue bikini underwear with lace and bows, generally satin. That's the same style Matt wears, except he likes pink. She doesn't wear much makeup; usually just some blush and lipstick, unless she's going out."  
  
"Why do I need to know this?" Ben asked.  
  
"Hey, what if you wind up marrying her? You might have adult relations, whatever that is, and she might want you to buy her some underwear from Victoria's Secret or something."  
  
"Victoria's what?"  
  
"It's the underwear store in the mall that Dad had closed down when Mary hit puberty. It's been replaced with Boring Cotton Unmentionables."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Ruthie closed the file. There was more in there, of course, but this should be enough for now. "Now," she said, "are you going to ask her out?"  
  
Ben nodded enthusiastically. Then his face became dour.  
  
"But what if she says no?" he asked.  
  
Ruthie straightened as though offended.  
  
"This is Glenoak, Ben. 'No' is not an answer, especially not in this family. And you are family, you know. You are a Camden by engagement, and we Camdens have ways of making people say yes to us. Yes, Jill will date you, mark my word. No one calls security on Ruthie Camden, especially when she's matchmaking. You just leave it all up to me." 


	4. Won't Back Down!

Four: Won't Back Down!  
* * *  
  
Ah, any time of year in Glenoak. The trees are green, the flowers blooming, and rumors of that thing called winter are restricted to Buffalo, where all the naughty people are sent. Birds and bees are, according to the Glenoak School Board, doing positively disgusting things with each other that we will not mention here, and children are playing happily, not knowing that any one of them could fall victim to a trendy social problem at any time.  
  
On Main Street in Glenoak people are parking their cars and going to the Promenade, where you just never know who you will meet. It could be love, even if it doesn't begin at the airport, and the movie theater is open for business so you can exchange saliva samples with your honey. Pete's Pizza continues to serve beer to those foolish enough to drink it, and the pool hall collects people of all ages, none of whom ever seem to have to wait for a table.  
  
And there, just off the Promenade, is the famous Glenoak Dance Studio.  
  
It's not an obvious place in Glenoak. If it were then it either would have been shut down by the righteous people of the town (women wear leotards in there, after all!) or it would have been the site of some romantic escapade involving the town's most important family. But not being obvious, it had somehow escaped the attention of the crowds outside.  
  
Until today, that is.  
  
Jill came in, unlocking the door and setting her gym bag by the counter. There would be a few classes today, but Linda was coming in for the later ones and the evening was free for popcorn and a rented movie at home. She liked movies, Jill did. Watching them, that is. She had always wondered how anyone could pay to see a movie and then spend the whole time kissing, instead of just kissing somewhere else for free. Oh, well.  
  
She thought about kissing from time to time. It would be nice to find someone to kiss again. Tom had been a good kisser, but it just hadn't worked out with him. It hadn't been a bad breakup, but not a good one either.  
  
You need to move on, Linda told her sometimes. There are plenty of good guys out there.  
  
Name one, Jill would answer.  
  
Linda never could.  
  
Maybe it was something about this town. Glenoak was a nice town, especially since its one career criminal had, after some 20 years on the loose knocking over convenience stores, finally been gunned down in the midst of one of his horrific crimes. There was already talk of laying off half of the town's police force, since bored officers were fast becoming a nuisance as they trolled the Promenade looking for gossip and chatting away on their cell phones. The weather here was always nice too, and since that one girl who was so horribly disfigured by a minor acne problem had gone off to the early admissions program at Harvard, everyone young in Glenoak was attractive.  
  
She should be able to meet a nice guy here, shouldn't she?  
  
Jill shrugged, flipping the sign at the door to the studio to "open" and moving behind the counter to do some paperwork. Mrs. Baryshnikov, who owned the studio, wouldn't be in till later, since she typically spent her mornings in a quiet cafe somewhere with her Czarist friends plotting to overthrow the Soviet Union. Jill would take the 10am class, then leave for school when Linda got in at 11.  
  
The bell hanging on the door rang as someone came in. Jill put on her best smile and looked up.  
  
It was a middle aged woman and a girl, the girl carrying a gym bag. They walked with authority, the girl's eyes roaming over the studio, the woman's face drawn into a perpetual tension that belied years of worrying. Must be a mother, Jill thought. The girl looked familiar somehow.  
  
"Good morning," Jill said to the woman. "Can I help you?"  
  
"I'm here to enroll my daughter in dance classes," the woman said.  
  
The girl looked up at Jill and smiled.  
  
Jill's eyes went wide.  
  
"Hi," the girl said.  
  
"Oh my God," Jill stammered. "Get out."  
  
The woman drew up imperiously. "What was that?" she demanded. "What did you say to us?"  
  
Jill took a step back, looking out the window and praying that a policeman would be passing by. But there were none, despite the long line of patrol cars parked by the Promenade.  
  
"Oh my God," she stammered again.  
  
The mother glared at her. "Young lady, it is a sin to take the Lord's name in vain like that. Now, I am here to sign my daughter Ruthie up for dance classes, and you will sign her up, right now. Do you understand?"  
  
Jill shook her head in horror. She remembered this girl now, the way she had promised a "good thing" if Jill would only come and meet her friend Ben, who had a great chest and who was a fireman. But Ben had turned out to be a freak and it was clear the whole thing was a setup, and Jill still remembered running away and then hiding in her house for two days with the shakes.  
  
Weirdos.  
  
And now the weirdos' mother was here.  
  
"No, I'm sorry," Jill managed. "All our classes are full."  
  
The woman's voice became a roar.  
  
"Are you saying you won't let my daughter Ruthie take dance classes?"  
  
Jill shook her head. Maybe if she pulled out the phone, dialed 911 quickly. But this thought vanished as the woman began beating on her chest like Tarzan.  
  
"I am Annie Camden! I am the wife of a Minister! You want a piece of this? You will sign up my daughter Ruthie for dance classes RIGHT NOW or you will feel the wrath of the MOTHER!"  
  
Jill staggered back under the woman's verbal assault. Trembling, she found the application and other paperwork, pushed them across the counter to Annie, whose rage had turned into a sudden, sweet smile.  
  
"There, that's better." She took the pen Jill offered and began to fill in the forms. Ruthie smiled as she did, glancing over at Jill once in a while. Finally Annie finished and pushed the forms back across the counter.  
  
"Will there be anything else?" Annie asked.  
  
"Um, she'll need tights and a leotard and some dance shoes," Jill sputtered.  
  
Ruthie shook her head. "I've already got my own dance clothes."  
  
Annie nodded. "Excellent, then. How much do we owe you?"  
  
Jill gave her the total, and Annie wrote out a check, pushing it across the counter.  
  
"Can I see some ID?" Jill asked. "It's policy."  
  
Annie roared, again beating her chest with her fists. "I am the wife of a MINISTER! NO ONE in this town needs to see my ID!"  
  
#  
  
Annie left, and she left Ruthie sitting in one of the chairs near the front of the studio, where she was when Jill returned from the bathroom in the back, having gone back there to drop several hits of aspirin for her new, throbbing migraine. She stopped short when she saw Ruthie.  
  
"Hi," Ruthie said.  
  
Aspirin was no match for this, and Jill's migraine instantly returned.  
  
Jill looked around. "Where's your mother?"  
  
"Oh, she's gone. We can start my lessons now."  
  
Jill glanced at her watch. 9:30. The students usually didn't start showing up until about a quarter till ten, and it was an adult class. The class for kids was at 4:30.  
  
"Uh, your class isn't till this afternoon," Jill said.  
  
"That's all right," Ruthie said. "You can give me some personal tutoring. I've got this important project I'm working on. I brought a CD."  
  
Jill groaned and wondered if the girl could hear her. Weirdos, that was what they were. She had heard the name "Camden" a few times up at Crawford, had heard how one son had gone there, nearly failed all his classes, and still had gotten into some prestigious medical school back east with a full scholarship. And there was this girl named Camden, too, who had missed so many classes that the University had begun putting her name and picture on milk cartons in the cafeteria. Since she was a theology student, the campus evangelical movement had begin to speculate that she had been taken up into heaven, and they prayed daily for her return.  
  
Camdens. And here was one, the crazy little one who had offered Jill a "good thing" and then introduced her to that creepy guy on the Promenade. Sitting in the studio now, looking at her.  
  
"A project?" Jill asked weakly.  
  
"Yeah. Can I show you?"  
  
Jill groaned again as the girl got up and went over to the boom-box they used for music. She jabbed at some of the buttons there and inserted the CD.  
  
"Don't you need to get into some dance clothes?" Jill asked.  
  
Ruthie laughed, stepped into the back with her bag to change. Jill watched her, then looked again at the front door. Please, she thought, can't even one cop come in here? Or maybe an armed robber?  
  
Then she remembered that Glenoak's only armed robber was dead.  
  
"Here I am."  
  
Jill turned. Ruthie was wearing a short miniskirt with a camouflage pattern, a black t-shirt festooned with military insignia, a dog-tag necklace, several dozen bracelets, and white, sequined cowboy boots. Jill's jaw dropped.  
  
"You like it?" Ruthie asked.  
  
"Uh, those aren't really dance clothes ...." Jill managed.  
  
"Sure they are. They're my outfit for the videotape we're making."  
  
Jill's voice was weak now. "Videotape?"  
  
"For the USO. It's going to be sent to all our military people, to improve morale. I just need to get my dance moves down right. Watch." Ruthie stepped up to the boom-box and jabbed "play".  
  
Jill went stiff in horror as Tom Petty's voice echoed from the speakers.  
  
"Well, I won't back down, no I won't back down ...."  
  
And Ruthie, gyrating the hips she did not yet have, wiggling like the woman she was still years from becoming, began to dance across the floor of the Glenoak Dance Studio, singing along out of tune.  
  
That was when Jill fainted dead away.  
  
* * *  
Author's note: The song and lyrics to "I Won't Back Down" belong to Tom Petty. I'm only using them because 7th Heaven chose that song in their disturbing portrayal of Ruthie acting erotic at the beginning of "The Known Soldier". I say this because there is just no way I could ever come up with something that twisted on my own. 


	5. Fire In Ze Belly!

Five: Fire In Ze Belly!  
  
* * *  
  
Blackness became gray in time, and with it there were voices, far away. These were jumbled, unclear, like static on the radio.  
  
Then a sharp pang hit her nostrils.  
  
Jill gasped, tensing in terror.  
  
"Hold still," someone said. "It's all right, Miss."  
  
She looked up, the face above her becoming clear, and fainted dead away again.  
  
#  
  
Three times later, her nose burning from the smelling salts, the blessed escape of unconsciousness no longer came. She cried out, pulling back.  
  
Ruthie, that strange little girl in the camouflage outfit, was standing beside her on the left, and on the right was him.  
  
That man.  
  
The weirdo.  
  
He was wearing a full fireman's outfit, and she remembered Ruthie saying something about him being a fireman. He even had on his helmet.  
  
"What's going on?" Jill demanded.  
  
"You passed out," Ruthie informed her. "It's a good thing I was here and could call for help. Who knows what might have happened? Do you have a tumor or something?"  
  
Jill shook her head. Ben stared at her, his jaw hanging a bit loose in a blank smile.  
  
"Hi," he said.  
  
Jill backed a little further away. She saw that behind him were some of the students in her adult dance class. Maybe if she screamed, they would come and rescue her.  
  
"Hey," Ben said, "it's all right. I'm a professional fireman. I can do CPR."  
  
"And mouth-to-mouth," Ruthie added, winking at her.  
  
Okay, so it was FOUR times later that unconsciousness stopped coming.  
  
#  
  
They got her up and into a chair just as Mrs. Baryshnikov came in.  
  
"What iz zees?" Mrs. Baryshnikov exclaimed. "I have heard through my contacts zat my dance inztruktor iz eell!" She hurried to Jill. "What iz eet, my deer?"  
  
Jill looked at her, then at Ruthie and Ben. What could she say? The girl was an enrolled student; the man appeared to actually be a fireman. She had passed out, and the girl had called for help.  
  
She had nothing.  
  
"Sorry," she told Mrs. Baryshnikov. "I just fainted."  
  
Mrs. Baryshnikov looked at Ruthie. "And zees one? Zees one is your stoodent?"  
  
"I'm here to learn to dance for the USO," said Ruthie.  
  
"Aha!" cried Mrs. Baryshnikov. "Zees one has fire in zee belly! I can see! Zen you have come to ze right place, my deer! Jill eez brilliyant as ze instructor of ze dance, yes? And who is zees handzome fireman?"  
  
"I'm Ben," Ben said. "I rescue people."  
  
"Zen eet ees a pleasure to meet you, fireman Ben! Welcome to ze stoodio!  
  
Using Mrs. Baryshnikov's enthusiasm as a cover, Jill had risen from the chair and begun to back away. She was almost at the door in the rear of the studio now, after which there was the back door of the building, and then she would run, and run, and never look back at Glenoak, California.  
  
Only Ruthie saw her first.  
  
"Hey!" she called. "Where are you going?"  
  
Jill froze like a deer in the headlights.  
  
"Uh .... I just remembered that I have an appointment," she managed. "Somewhere else."  
  
"Oh, you can't go," Ruthie said.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"It's a medical thing. You passed out, and so Ben has to check you out and make sure you're okay. Isn't that right, Ben?"  
  
Ben looked at her for a moment.  
  
"Oh ... yeah," he managed. "I need to check your pulse and blood pressure and get your phone number and find out if you have any plans for dinner."  
  
"What?"  
  
Ben blinked, said nothing.  
  
"It's standard procedure," Ruthie said. "In case you die or something, we -- that is the fire department -- need to be able to call you."  
  
Ben nodded. Jill looked to Mrs. Baryshnikov for help, her eyes pleading. But Mrs. Baryshnikov suddenly seemed to only have eyes for Ben.  
  
"Oooo! Zees one ees handzome! Look at hees chest!"  
  
Ruthie smiled, her gaze still directed at Jill.  
  
"Oh, yeah," she said, winking again. "He's got a great chest. Show Jill your chest, Ben."  
  
This Ben did, in grand fashion.  
  
Now it was Mrs. Baryshnikov's turn to faint. 


	6. Girl Talk

Six: Girl Talk  
  
* * *  
  
Well, it isn't often that you get asked to dinner by a handsome fireman who you have been told has just saved your life, but this was Glenoak, California, where improbable romantic escapades are the norm and the idea of actually getting to know someone before you get engaged is simply unheard of. The other thing to know about Glenoak, California is that turning down a Camden or one of their hangers-on is not done twice, and Jill had already used up her one opportunity to do so by fleeing in horror back on the Promenade. Had she left town that day, it is just possible that she would have avoided all this, but it was too late now; she was a pretty girl that someone involved with the Camdens had taken an interest in, and so she was stuck. And so it was that Jill, quite without wanting to, found herself accepting Ben's invitation to dinner.  
  
"It'll be great," Ruthie told Jill as she sat, her head in her hands, wondering how on Earth all this had happened. "My Mom is a great cook, and almost my whole family will be there, even my brother Matt and his wife. We have a very loving family, you know. They all want to meet you."  
  
"They do?" asked Jill.  
  
"Sure. It's like you're part of the family too."  
  
Jill lowered her head between her legs to keep from fainting again.  
  
"I am?" she croaked.  
  
Ruthie patted her knowingly on the head. "Well, of course you are. I mean, you're virtually Ben's fiancée."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Camden tradition. When it comes to marriage, the second date is too late, so you've got a lot of work to do."  
  
"Work?" croaked Jill again.  
  
"Absolutely. How old are you?"  
  
"Twenty-one."  
  
"Oh, my. You have to get him to propose, right away. Otherwise you're going to turn into an Evil Single Woman who stalks married men and destroys families, plus you'll intentionally get pregnant and drain the welfare system or take up smoking and turn into an antisocial arsonist. Worst of all, you might wind up having a job, like my stupid sister Mary, instead of staying at home and raising at least half a dozen kids in someone else's house while you abuse your husband."  
  
The thought of abusing Ben did have a certain, strange appeal to Jill, so she kept listening instead of hunting for one of the cyanide pills that Mrs. Baryshnikov kept around here somewhere in case the Reds came for her.  
  
"But I like being single," Jill said.  
  
Ruthie shook her head. "No, that won't do at all," she said. "Boy, it's a good thing I found you in time. Family values are very important to us, Jill, so you have to make sure you don't come over with any opinions about politics or anything like that. Whatever my Dad or Ben or his brother Kevin say to you, just nod and agree and look pretty. What's your ring size?"  
  
"My ring size?"  
  
"For your engagement ring, silly." Ruthie's tone became conspiratorial. "I have it on good authority that Ben is going to get you a really big gemette. Play along like you like it, and then he'll let on that it isn't a real diamond, and then you can play the offended bride-to-be thing on him and sucker him into something really expensive. If you're nasty enough, you might even get Kevin to pay for it. He's loaded from kickbacks from the vice-squad."  
  
Jill cradled her head in her hands and moaned.  
  
"Now," Ruthie said. "Let's talk girl-talk, since we're almost sisters. What are you going to wear to dinner? You don't want to come across as a sex kitten, so I'd avoid red unless you want to dance with my sister Lucy. But you do want something sexy so that Ben will want you, but you don't want to look like a slut. Oh, and have you gotten your period yet? My boyfriend Peter is great at picking out tampons, in case you need some. He and my dad know all about them."  
  
#  
  
It was a this moment that Annie returned to pick Ruthie up, and Jill watched as the girl bounded to her mother and told her all about what had happened. Annie regarded Jill suspiciously.  
  
"Ben?" she asked. "You're coming over as Ben's date?"  
  
Jill nodded helplessly.  
  
"But Ben is supposed to marry Mary." Annie's tone turned hostile. "Are you related to Serena?"  
  
"Who's Serena?"  
  
Annie's eyes went wide. "Only the biggest slut in town! Ruiner of marriages! Whore of Babylon!"  
  
Ruthie tugged at her mother's sleeve. "Mom!"  
  
"Oh!" Annie cried, and she obligingly put her hands over Ruthie's ears. "Now, where was I?"  
  
"Whore of Babylon?" offered Jill, bringing her own hands to her ears.  
  
This did no good as Annie began to shout. "That's right! Now, if Ben doesn't marry Mary, who is going to marry Mary? My God, she's almost a spinster already! Someone needs to marry Mary, and I say it's going to be Ben!"  
  
Suddenly, a ray of hope appeared for Jill.  
  
"I can talk to him," she said. "I can tell him he should marry Mary."  
  
Annie's face went suddenly mournful and she began to weep.  
  
"Oh, my dear, would you? I'm sorry to cry, but as a woman I'm so subject to my hormones. Oh, Ben should marry Mary! He should! It would be so beautiful, and he has such an incredible chest!" She took her hands away from Ruthie's head. "We'll see you tonight, then?"  
  
Jill nodded.  
  
"Oh, good. Now, don't dress like a whore."  
  
"Mom!" 


	7. Dressed to Tremble

Seven: Dressed to Tremble  
  
* * *  
  
For reasons that eluded her, Jill found herself carefully selecting her clothes for her dinner at the Camdens. No bare shoulders, she thought. He'll just touch them. But I don't want to look like I'm out handing out copies of The Watchtower, so the conservative blouse and skirt are out.  
  
And red, avoid red. I definitely don't want to dance with Ruthie's sister.  
  
Underwear, of course, presented another problem: Jill had no chastity belt, and so settled for her thickest grannypanties under her most opaque pair of pantyhose, and the dress she selected ran down well below her knees. No makeup, and no jewelry, in case these people were the type attracted to shiny things.  
  
Her preparation complete, Jill appraised herself in the full length mirror that hung on the bathroom door of her apartment.  
  
Dammit. She was still pretty. Did Moe's wife next door have a spare Burkha?  
  
Moe was just getting in as Jill opened her door and stepped outside. His daughter Jill was with him, and Jill smiled at them.  
  
"Good afternoon, Jill," Moe said.  
  
"Good afternoon."  
  
Jill liked Moe and his family. They were quiet neighbors, certainly an improvement over the Crawford fraternity boys who had lived next door at her old place. And it was fun sometimes to have another Jill around; Jill helped the girl with her homework sometimes and in the building they had become known as Jill Sr. and Jill Jr.  
  
"Going out for the evening?" Moe asked.  
  
Jill nodded. She fought off the urge to fall to her knees before Moe and Jill Jr. and beg them to ask her to baby-sit or something.  
  
"Dinner," she said.  
  
Moe nodded and smiled. "Well, you look very nice," he said.  
  
Inwardly, Jill groaned. She thought again about asking about a burkha, but then she remembered that the Duprees were moderate Muslims and so of course would try and hide their Islamic identity rather than celebrate it, at least here in Glenoak, where Muslims were in such constant need of rescuing. Jill had heard from Jill Jr. how the kids at her old school had taunted her.  
  
"But it's worse in my new school," Jill Jr. had told her. "There's another Muslim girl named Yasmine, and they spend so much time pointing out that she's a moderate Muslim and talking about how all the Christians need to protect her because she's helpless that now she's the biggest target in school. Nobody leaves her alone and they won't let her just be a student. It's bad enough with the bigots, but those pushy charity types? Eeeew!"  
  
Jill had nodded. Now she thanked Moe for the compliment and stepped down the stairs and out to her car.  
  
Maybe if I get into an accident, she thought.  
  
No, the way things are going, it would be Ben and his cop brother who are first on the scene.  
  
#  
  
It was hard to miss the Camden house, what with that background guitar music and halo over it and all, but Jill still checked the address twice to make sure it was the right place. She parked her car across the street and locked it carefully.  
  
It was then that she saw the boy watching her.  
  
A chill went down her spine, and she thought briefly about jumping back in her car and driving away. He was just a teenager, with dark hair, and he was poorly hidden behind a couple of garbage cans by the driveway of the house. And he was, definitely, watching her.  
  
She looked away. Don't make eye contact, just don't.  
  
Hurriedly Jill made her way across the street. She was glad that she had chosen to wear flats instead of heels, since the instinct to run was never far away.  
  
She rang the doorbell, and saw behind her that the strange boy had crossed the street and was now lurking behind some bushes in the Camdens' front yard.  
  
Oh, God, please. Someone answer.  
  
After a moment the door opened and she was face to face with a middle-aged man.  
  
"Hello," he said. "I'm Eric Camden. I'm a Minister. You've probably heard of me."  
  
"I'm Jill," Jill said.  
  
The man smiled. "Well, come into our parlor," said the Minister to the girl. He stepped aside to admit her, and Jill stepped inside.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye Jill saw as the strange stalking boy slipped into the house after her. Eric appeared not to notice. 


	8. Let Me Help!

Eight: Let Me Help!  
  
* * *  
  
Eric Camden led Jill deeper into the large house that lay at the very center of Glenoak. She had her hands held tight to her sides, and she glanced around nervously. She saw the strange boy who had followed her as he skulked quietly toward a door.  
  
"Do you know him?" she asked the Reverend.  
  
Eric looked and shook his head. "He's probably just a friend of Simon's," he said, scarcely glancing at the stranger. "You look nervous, Jill. Why don't you come into my office while Annie finishes dinner?"  
  
Jill resisted the urge to bolt for the door. As she followed Eric across the living room, she noted that the strange boy had disappeared into the kitchen, where she heard the sounds of cabinets being opened and closed.  
  
"Here," Eric said as he guided her into the office and closed the door behind her. "Have a seat." He indicated a chair, and Jill sat. He took the seat behind the desk.  
  
"Now," he said. "I'd like to get to know you."  
  
Jill gulped.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, since you are an unmarried young woman, you must have some trauma or other problems that you need help solving. Fortunately for you, I'm an expert at everything. We can't have you dating Ben until we're sure you aren't broken somehow, now can we?"  
  
Jill spoke softly. "I really don't want to date Ben, Mr. Camden."  
  
Eric laughed. "Of course you do. Have you seen his chest? Any woman would want to date him." Eric's face grew serious. "But not every woman is worthy, Jill. There are a lot of women out there who are bad, bad people, like single women and teen mothers and smokers and flight attendants. You're not one of those, are you?"  
  
Jill shrank back into her chair. "Well, I'm single ...." she managed.  
  
Eric smiled. "That can be cured, fortunately. But let's get to some of your other traumas. Do you do drugs? Smoke pot?"  
  
"God, no. What are you talking about?"  
  
"How about alcohol? Are you an alcoholic? Because we have a spare room upstairs where you can detox. We used it for my lush sister."  
  
"No! I've had a glass of wine with dinner sometimes, but --"  
  
Eric looked at her seriously, his gaze silencing her. "You didn't dump it on a man's head, did you?"  
  
"No ...."  
  
"Good. Now, let's see. Have you ever had depression resulting from a failure to become a cheerleader?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Have you ever been homeless? Do you suffer from kleptomania?"  
  
"What are you talking about? No!"  
  
Eric smiled reassuringly. "It's all right, Jill. I know it can be hard to confront your past traumas. Do you know the words to the national anthem? Are you an orphan? Have you or your dog ever been hit by a car?"  
  
"Why are you asking me this?" Jill demanded.  
  
"Why, because I can help you," Eric replied. "I'm an expert with emotional trauma. Has a boy ever snapped your bra?"  
  
"Well, once, but --"  
  
"Oh, my. You poor thing. Was it at a fraternity party? Was it in the back seat of a police car?"  
  
Jill shook her head.  
  
"Was the boy a single teen parent you met at the playground?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Have you ever violated school policy by taking an aspirin on school grounds? Are you bulimic? Have you ever gone across the country without your parents' permission because a boyfriend left you?"  
  
"What?"  
  
But the questions kept coming, rapid-fire, as though by rote.  
  
"Are you in a gang and do you hide weapons under your brother's mattress?"  
  
"My brother is 30, Mr. Camden. Will you please stop this?"  
  
Eric shook his head. "It's for your own good, Jill. I'm here to help you. Remember that it is better to be harmless, not helpful. Or is that helpfully harmless? Or harmfully helpful? Or helplessly harmful? I never can remember. Have you ever gone to the mall dressed up like a tart and flirted with the security guards?"  
  
"Are you insane?"  
  
Eric shook his head. "Of course not. I'm a Minister. Have you ever been traumatized by a Holocaust denier?"  
  
Jill stiffened. "If I ever met a Holocaust denier, Mr. Camden, I'd kick his ass."  
  
Eric nodded. "I'll put that down as a 'maybe'. Were you ever invited to a slumber party by the popular girls only to be picked on there? Has an older relative in a bad toupee ever frightened you?"  
  
"Hey! I love my grandfather! He can wear any toupee he wants!"  
  
Eric made a little face. "I can see we'll have to work on that. Have you ever been caught kissing at the movies by your mother so your older brother had to punish you for it? How many best friends have you had?"  
  
Jill tried to rise, but it was like some strange, terrible force written into the script of her life was holding her down in the seat.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You know. Girls you've known at least two days. How many of them have died tragically? How many have moved away and never appeared in your life again, even if you had a phone card you could use to call them?"  
  
Jill tried to speak but no words came out. Eric continued.  
  
"Have you ever had a false pregnancy scare that turned out to be your mother? Do you cut yourself? Have you ever been sent away never to be heard from again as a result?"  
  
That thought was suddenly tempting.  
  
"Do you think violence is romantic, Jill, like, say, the movie Gone With The Wind? Are you addicted to coffee? Do you take drugs to enhance your athletic performance? Have you ever had a heart attack?"  
  
"Does now count?"  
  
"No. Have you ever failed to listen to a male authority figure about sex? Have you ever been to a coed sleepover? Was your intimate sex talk with your parents videotaped for your brother's sex education assignment? Do you wear candy-cane pajamas at Christmas even though they are too small? Have you ever had a dog die?"  
  
Jill groaned. She put her hands to her ears and held them there, but somehow the Reverend's words got through anyway.  
  
"Have you ever vandalized your high school gym or been held in an internment camp by the United States government during World War II? Do you sniff paint fumes?"  
  
"Stop it!" Jill shouted.  
  
"Ah," Eric said knowingly. "Tourette Syndrome."  
  
"I do not have Tourette Syndrome!"  
  
Eric rose and came to her. Jill struggled weakly as he put his arms around her and held her close. "It's all right, Jill. It's all right. You're safe here. We won't judge you."  
  
"Let me go!"  
  
But he didn't, and the questions kept coming.  
  
"Did your science teacher in elementary school call you 'stupid' because she was having troubles finding a husband, Jill? Or did someone accuse you of being an immoral teen mother because they saw you with your little brothers?"  
  
"You sick bastard! Let me go!"  
  
The embrace tightened. "Oh, when, WHEN will people learn not to be prejudiced?"  
  
Jill struggled helplessly. She was crying now. "Stop it! Just stop it, you freak!"  
  
Eric drew back. His smile was kind and genuine. "Have you ever committed plagiarism, Jill? Did you postpone college against your parents' wishes?"  
  
"I'm in college RIGHT NOW!"  
  
"Do you have a lot of unpaid bills?"  
  
"NO! And that's none of your business!"  
  
Eric reached out and caressed her cheek. "You poor thing. You once saw your parents having sex, didn't you?"  
  
"You gross pig!"  
  
"And then some boys who listen to rap music sexually harassed you, didn't they? Oh, when will people learn that rap music is evil? When? Did your father abandon you so you were homeless and had to move in with the family of a boy you tried to seduce in a sleazy motel?"  
  
"I talked to my father last week, like I do every week. Shut up!"  
  
"Ah." Eric nodded knowingly. "It's hormones, isn't it? Menopause. I understand, Jill. It's all right. It's nothing to be ashamed of."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"Do people tease you, Jill? Do they make fun of you in school? You know that violence isn't the answer, right? It's because you're a Muslim that they tease you, isn't it?"  
  
"I'm not a Muslim. My neighbors are Muslim."  
  
Eric drew back as though he might catch something.  
  
"Your neighbors are Muslims? Oh, my! They're moderate Muslims, right?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You know. Moderate. This is very important, Jill."  
  
"They're Muslims. Why is that such a big deal?"  
  
Eric sighed. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's 9-11 trauma, isn't it, Jill? You know, it's all right to be sad and angry about 9-11. Maybe you don't know this, but terrorists destroyed the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. They attacked the Pentagon too. That's why we're at war in Iraq and Afghanistan. The terrorists were Muslim extremists."  
  
"Do you live in a box or something?" Jill shouted. "I cried my eyes out because of 9-11! I saw the second plane hit LIVE on television! You think I don't know about that? God, will you stop?"  
  
"God," Eric said. "It's a perversion of God, what those Muslim extremists do. But not moderate Muslims. Moderate Muslims are good people. We have to rescue the moderate Muslims."  
  
"Will you shut up?"  
  
"We have to thank our servicemen and women. We have to thank them for their sacrifice. They've given everything so we can be free."  
  
"My uncle fought in Vietnam, Reverend. He lost an arm. Don't try and tell me about sacrifice."  
  
Eric looked at Jill, a tear streaming down his cheek. "What's his name?" he asked. "What was his rank?"  
  
"Daniel C. Martin. He was a Sergeant."  
  
Eric raised his eyes to heaven, his voice suddenly breaking.  
  
"Thank you, Sergeant Daniel C. Martin."  
  
Jill struggled to get up, but was still held fast by the mysterious forces of unrealistic plotting and continuity. Eric turned to her again.  
  
"Oh, you poor, poor girl," he said. "You wanted to join that traveling puppet show, didn't you? I'm so sorry we weren't able to get to you sooner."  
  
Jill felt her jaw drop.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Eric smiled, and he reached down and helped Jill to her feet, the chair miraculously releasing her.  
  
"Come on," Eric Camden said. "Let's join the others for dinner. And don't worry, Jill. Your days of spending Valentine's Day alone with your Hello Kitty dolls are over. We're going to make sure you get a man." 


	9. Mine! Mine! Mine!

Nine: Mine! Mine! Mine!  
  
The Reverend led Jill from his office, wiping the tears from his eyes as he did, sniffling a bit and occasionally looking skyward. Jill resisted the urge to glance up and see what he was looking at, afraid at what this might reveal.  
  
Perhaps she should have, though, considering the alternative that presented itself.  
  
A girl was descending the stairs by the front door, singing happily to herself. She looked to be about Jill's age, but her demeanor was much younger. Jill caught a few of the words from her song.  
  
"I'm getting married in the morning...."  
  
At the word "marriage" a chill ran down Jill's spine. Eric smiled blankly.  
  
"Jill, have you met my daughter Lucy?"  
  
"Uh, do I have to?" Jill answered.  
  
Eric smiled and led her to the banister.  
  
The girl wasn't ugly, but her blouse was at least three sizes too small and her hair struck Jill as being flat and rather badly cut. Eric spoke to her.  
  
"Lucy, this is Jill. Jill, my daughter Lucy."  
  
Lucy's face screwed itself up into a hostile sneer.  
  
"You stay away from him. Don't think I don't know what you're doing!"  
  
Jill stepped back. "What?"  
  
"He's mine! Kevin's mine! I know your type, you seductress!"  
  
"Who's Kevin?" Jill managed.  
  
"Don't play stupid with me! I'm a Religion major at Crawford University! It's a real university, NOT a college! I'm going to be a Minister! You with all your sex looks, trying to take him away from me! You just stay away from him, do you hear me?"  
  
"Isn't she cute when she's jealous?" Eric put in.  
  
"She's a psycho," Jill said.  
  
There came another laugh then, a male laugh that belonged to a young man coming out of the kitchen. Lucy looked at him and her face turned from rage to a blissful innocence.  
  
"Yeah," the man said, "she is. But God, I love her!"  
  
"Oh, Kevin! I love you too!" Lucy babbled.  
  
Jill watched as Kevin approached. He had an odd way of carrying himself, rather stiff but more than that. It was almost as though with every motion he would freeze for a second, like he was posing for a camera. He extended a hand to Jill.  
  
"I'm Kevin. I'm a police officer."  
  
Vice-squad, Jill remembered Ruthie saying. He's loaded. She hesitated, then took his hand.  
  
"It's not often I get to meet such a beautiful woman when I'm not arresting her for making terrorist threats," he said.  
  
Jill squirmed a bit. "I'm Jill," she managed.  
  
"Don't think I didn't see that!" Lucy exploded. "He's mine! You slut!"  
  
Kevin laughed, then moved to Lucy and kissed her patronizingly on the forehead. "Oh, don't trouble your pretty little self, Luce," he said. "If you think too much it'll just give you wrinkles." He looked back at Jill. "You're the one in love with my brother Ben, aren't you?"  
  
"Huh?" Jill stammered.  
  
Eric had been staring up at the ceiling through this exchange. "Oh," he said now. "Ben's quite a catch, Jill. Have you seen his chest? It's the second most beautiful chest I've ever seen on a man." He sniffled, wiped a tear from his eye. "Oh, Robbie, where art thou?"  
  
This little moment was interrupted by a sudden shout from the kitchen that made Jill jump.  
  
"Ben is in love with Mary! Ben is going to marry Mary, do you hear me, Eric? Don't make me come out there! Oh, and dinner is ready." 


	10. Oy! Sit Down!

Ten: Oy! Sit Down!  
  
Like flies to, well, something far too naughty to imply even exists in a family values story like this one, they came. Lucy had taken Kevin's arm in hers and skipped alongside him, singing her song again, and Eric extended his hand to Jill, indicating that she should precede him. Jill glanced at the front door as he did, realizing that he had cut off her escape. Her eyes wide in terror, she followed the singing Lucy--robotic Kevin duo into the dining room.  
  
It had a big table, well set, and at the far end stood Annie, her chest puffed out and her face lined with age and tension, blonde hair looking rather like a poodle's. From the kitchen behind her others flowed in, starting with a pair of boys who looked to be of high-school age, one blond and sullen, the other with a wide smile on his face as he took the first boy's hand.  
  
The first boy pulled away.  
  
"Stop that!"  
  
"Ooh! Feisty, eh, Camden?"  
  
Annie glared at the two of them, and they went silent.  
  
"Jill, this is my son Simon and his friend Morris."  
  
Morris smiled at her and winked, and Simon simply stared, his jaw dropping.  
  
"Wow," he stammered. "Hi."  
  
Morris pinched him and giggled.  
  
"Ow!" Simon cried.  
  
Morris looked innocent, turning to Annie.  
  
"Mrs. Camden?" he asked. "Is tonight's meal kosher? Because I'm Jewish, sort of, I think."  
  
Annie opened her mouth to speak but another voice cut her off.  
  
"Did someone say Jewish?"  
  
This came from a rather strange man who had appeared, it seemed, through yet another door. Eric saw him and smiled.  
  
"Richard! Will you be joining us?"  
  
"Oy!" the man said. "I wish I could, Eric, you know. Because Annie's kugel, it could lead the twelve tribes right out of bondage! Honestly. Sometimes I'd just like to kiss her, right there in the kitchen, but oy! What am I saying! She's your wife! Oy! No, my friend, I'm only here because, well, you know, it's Rosina and oy, oy, oy, those moods! Lately she's been going on about how she's worried she's looking like a conehead as she ages! Oy! So I'm, 'what's a conehead, anyway?' and then you know, there's the look, and then the fighting, and oy, oy, oy, she won't ever stop!" He reached up, rubbed his brow. "So I tell her, 'Hey, it could be worse! That Matt Camden, he's a nice boy for our Sarah, not so Jewish maybe, but oy, oy, oy, I'm a rabbi, I can fix that, right?'"  
  
Eric tensed. "Matt is no more Jewish than Jesus was!" he insisted.  
  
"Yeah, I know!" exclaimed Richard. "And I kept thinking about this Jesus that everyone wants to talk about and I'm thinking, oy, oy, oy, was he a conehead, maybe? Because that would make sense, right? You see, my friend, how complicated these things can be, and hey, who's the Shiksa?"  
  
Eric smiled. "This is Jill."  
  
Richard looked closely at Jill.  
  
"You're not Jewish?" he asked. "Because for me, everything in the world is about being Jewish, oy! It's the only thing that's important about me! Oy!"  
  
Jill shook her head.  
  
"Oy, oy, oy, that's a shame. Because the Weinstein boy, he's a good boy. He'd be good for you, but his mother, she wants a nice Jewish girl for her son, and who can blame her? Oy!"  
  
"Jill is Ben's date tonight," Eric explained.  
  
"Ben?" Richard slapped his forehead. "Of course! The fireman! He's got quite the chest, for a Goy, that is. You know, not like Moses must have had or anything, but hey, that's what I keep telling myself: we can't all be Moses, eh? Oy! I've got to go! It's a Jewish thing, you know, and I'm Jewish, in case you didn't know! But how could you not know? Oy, oy!"  
  
And as quickly as he had appeared, the rabbi vanished.  
  
#  
  
They guided Jill to a chair and sat her down beside the strange boy who had followed her in from outside. She looked at him and smiled nervously, and he smiled back.  
  
"Hi," he said. "I'm Martin. My father is a Marine in Iraq. Did you know there's a war going on over there?"  
  
Eric looked ceilingward. "Thank you, Martin's father the Marine," he said. "And thank you for sending us your son, whoever he is. We will protect him as you battle the forces of evil."  
  
Jill tried to scoot her chair away from the strange boy, but as she did she sensed another person sitting down on the other side of her.  
  
"Hi!" squeaked a voice. "Can I stay for dinner, Mrs. Camden? I just love your twins! And you love me too, don't you, boys?"  
  
Jill turned and gasped. Beside her a blonde girl had planted herself, her head bobbing up and down as though on a spring while she smiled over at two little boys who even now Annie was settling into high chairs.  
  
"Yeeeeaaaahhhhh...." one of the boys slurred out.  
  
"Weeee loooovvveeee Seesseeellliiiaaa...."  
  
"Sheeeee's booootttiiiffffuuuullll...."  
  
The girl smiled more broadly, her head still bobbing about. Annie smiled back at her.  
  
"Of course, Cecilia. We always have enough food to feed anyone who comes by, despite the fact that Eric doesn't make that much money and I spend it poorly on expensive things like Brenda's Cookies and Brenda's Milk and Brenda's Boring Cotton Unmentionables. Have you met Jill? She's here to keep Ben company until he marries Mary."  
  
"Hi!" Cecilia squeaked, her head bouncing around with a wide, blank smile as Jill tried to smile politely.  
  
"Uh, hello."  
  
Morris pinched Simon again. "Don't get any ideas, Camden," he chuckled.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
Suddenly the reverie was broken by a familiar voice. Ruthie had come into the room and they all grew silent as she spoke.  
  
"Ahem! I now present to you, and especially you, Jill: Ben the fireman." 


	11. So BIG!

Eleven: So BIG!  
  
Oh, she was so boooooottttiiiifffuuuulll! Ben stood and stared for a moment at his true love, the shining beauty of his universe, the radiant light that shone forth from her, as Ruthie introduced him to the assembled Camdens and all their self-invited guests. He managed somehow to keep his jaw from dropping as Annie indicated that he and Ruthie should take their seats and everyone at the table started talking at once.  
  
"I was at the Promenade today!"  
  
"Oh, Kevin! Hee hee hee!"  
  
"Isn't Mary stupid?"  
  
"Weeeeee'rrreeee huuuuunnnnngggrrrryyyy...."  
  
"Yyyeeeaaaaahhhhh.... huuuunnnngggrrryyyy...."  
  
"Hee hee hee!"  
  
"So I told him: 'I'M THE WIFE OF A MINISTER!'"  
  
"You know, there's a war going on in Iraq."  
  
"I just loooove your children, Mrs. Camden!"  
  
"You are a sweet thing, you know that, Camden?"  
  
Ben smiled, wondering what he should do, and felt Ruthie tugging on his sleeve. He looked down at her.  
  
"Go!" she whispered. "Like I told you to do. Go and kiss her hand!"  
  
"Oh," he replied. "Sorry. I forgot."  
  
Ruthie pushed him gently.  
  
And so Ben stepped around the table to the love of his life, the shining star of beauty whose glow illuminated the room, and he reached for her hand and brought it gallantly to his lips, slightly mesmerized by her bouncing head.  
  
"Ah, my darling," he said.  
  
Someone kicked his shin. "Not HER, you idiot!" Ruthie whispered, reaching up to pull his hand free of Cecilia's and jam it towards the woman sitting next to her. "HER!"  
  
"Oh, sorry," Ben said, and he turned his attention to the love of his life, the shining star... you get it.  
  
This woman shrank back in her chair as he reached for her hand, her fingers going for her knife but just missing it as she tried to swat him away.  
  
"My darling," he said. "Welcome!"  
  
Don't slobber, Ruthie had told him. Again and again she had told him. They'd practiced on the Hello Kitty dolls upstairs, and several slobbery Hello Kitties later, he seemed to have gotten the hang of it. He kept this in mind as he pressed his lips to Jill's hand, her arm strong as she tried to pull away.  
  
"Isn't that romantic?" he heard Kevin say. "My little brother in love."  
  
"Are you looking at her?" Lucy snapped. "You're looking at that little tart, aren't you!"  
  
This outburst was quelled as Kevin wrapped his arms around Lucy and planted a wet, open mouthed kiss on her lips. She moaned in his arms, pressing against him and writhing.  
  
"Hey!" Eric said. "Take it to the living room later, you two, so we can all watch!"  
  
Lucy composed herself. "Yes, Dad. Sorry."   
  
Ben released Jill's hand and stood blankly as she poured water from her glass on it and wiped it fiercely with her napkin. She loves me, he thought, and the urge came to him then to pull out what he had in his pocket and present it to her. Fortunately Ruthie pulled him away and guided him to his chair across the table from her.  
  
"You can give it to her later," Ruthie hissed, taking the seat beside him. "After she's all warmed up."  
  
Ben nodded. The Brenda's Pot Roast sure smelled good.  
  
#  
  
"Ahem," Eric said. "It's time to say grace. Since I'm a man and am therefore immune to flighty hormonal troubles, I'll do it. I'm also a Minister, you know."  
  
"Really?" asked Martin. "My father's a Marine. In Iraq. There's a war going on there."  
  
Eric wiped a sudden tear from his eye, brought his hands together, and began to speak.  
  
"Oh God, you're so big. I mean really. You're positively gigantic, and we're all really impressed down here, let me tell you. So we want to thank you, oh great big God, for all the blessings you've bestowed upon us, that we of course deserve so much, because we're a surprisingly functional family that has won numerous awards for our efforts in addressing such issues as teen pregnancy, more teen pregnancy, and of course, watching those pitiful failures of single teen mothers who are such an example of how liberalism and permissiveness like you see on the WB all the time are destroying America. Thank you, God, for all the patriarchal family values that need to be enforced over our women and young people, and thank you also for all the bad things that happen to kids who listen to rap music, because they're bad, bad kids who need to be punished. And thank you for the homeless, God, because without them we wouldn't be able to invite total strangers over to our house for random meals that help us believe we're doing good when in fact after the meal we never see or hear from them again, which doesn't bother us in the least because we eat so well, all the time."  
  
Eric smiled, and looked over at Jill.  
  
"And thank you, God, for the gift of love, true love, love like Annie shows to me and her family when she shoves my dinner down the garbage disposal or sends our underage children to live in a half finished room over the garage where there are exposed electrical wires, denying them food, comfort and shelter. Or love like we have for our stupid daughter Mary, who didn't obey us so we sent her off to live in Buffalo with my harsh, militarist, abusive father. Yes, God, thank you for love, and tonight, a special thank you for the love between Ben and Jill, a love that, like the love Kevin shows daily to my daughter Lucy as he slowly and firmly destroys that terrible, dangerous self esteem that she was getting by being a single woman, will be a love everlasting, in your sight and under the mighty force of your power, which is a sword wielded by sweet baby Jesus to smite all non-moderate Muslims and of course kids who listen to rap music. Amen."  
  
Ben smiled, looking over at the love of his life as he tired to figure out all the big words the reverend had just said. She was so beautiful, his love, so radiant, shimmering in her glow of....  
  
"Which one is she, again?" he whispered to Ruthie. 


End file.
